


E-Fucking-Clipse

by sister_wolf



Series: Constable Joe [2]
Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-14
Updated: 2004-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe: [carrying an inflatable sheep in one hand and a feather boa in the other] The fuck's this got to do with me, Welsh?</p><p>Welsh: I have often asked myself the very same thing, Constable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank-you's to the crackheaded crew at #discourse, without whom this insanity would never have come to pass. An enormous thank-you to [](http://heuradys.livejournal.com/profile)[**heuradys**](http://heuradys.livejournal.com/), my partner in crime. Transcripts from [this site](http://www.trinityslash.com/trans/index.html/). And thanks to [](http://daughtershade.livejournal.com/profile)[**daughtershade**](http://daughtershade.livejournal.com/) for the goat!

[Location: 27th district]

Welsh: This whole thing began with this con that they have in the holding cell called Siracusa. Apparently he had a sit down with one of the reps from the State's Attorney, tried to cut himself a deal for an early release. He said that our whole station was bent, taking in drugs with the arrest, skimming off the top. How'd he come across this information, they ask? He said he used to be a stoolie for one of the dirty cops, a detective. Which detective, they ask? He points the finger at Ray Vecchio.

Joe: [carrying an inflatable sheep in one hand and a feather boa in the other] The fuck's this got to do with me, Welsh?

Welsh: I have often asked myself the very same thing, Constable.

[Joe surreptitiously rubs his nose]

Welsh: In here, please.

[Welsh and Joe enter the maintenance closet]

Welsh: So this guy from IA is a real piece of work called Brandau. Any excuse he gets he's gonna jump on, and he'll start digging. Now I know this station is clean, but there're always loose ends. If Vecchio doesn't show, this district will have its collective ass in the slink. I need Ray Vecchio by end of shift. Five o'clock.

Joe: Which one?

Welsh: Which one what?

Joe: Which fucking Ray Vecchio? The real one or the fake?

[door opens and a cop steps in]

Joe: The fuck do you want?

Cop: I'm looking for toilet paper.

Welsh: [hands him newspaper] Here. Scram.

[cop leaves]

Welsh: I can't go in there and tell them that Ray Vecchio is undercover on another operation, and that this guy at the desk is not the real Ray Vecchio. If I do, these morons will have it on the six o'clock news, and the real Ray Vecchio will end up the dead body leading off at eleven. See? The only way to handle this is we gotta bluff it out. You look for the new guy, and I'll stall.

Joe: Sure, what the fuck. I got nothing else to do today.

Welsh: Jesus. We're doomed.

[they exit the maintenance closet]

Elaine: [looking like she's just spotted dog shit on the sidewalk] Joe. What's with the feather boa? And is that an _inflatable sheep_?

Joe: Yeah, couldn't get a fucking goat on this short notice. They're party supplies, baby.

Elaine: For the eclipse?

Joe: Fuck no. It's Vecchio's birthday.

Welsh: Joe, it's not the new guy's birthday.

Joe: Yeah, but I already had the stri-- um, entertainment, set up for today. So fuck it, it'll be the new guy's birthday too.

Elaine: And we use the feather boa and inflatable sheep for...?

Joe: [winks] Just use your imagination, dollface. [drapes the feather boa over Elaine's shoulder and exits the precinct carrying the inflatable sheep, trailed by his constipated warthog faithful hound dog, Shithead.]

Welsh: I have a certain premonition of doom concerning any party that Constable Mulgrew is involved with the planning of.

Elaine: [doubtful] It could be fun, you never know.

Welsh: Have the paramedics standing by just in case. [wanders away, muttering] Maybe a SWAT team...

[Location: Ray's apartment building]

Landlady: He okay in houses? [meaning Shithead]

Joe: Yeah, sure.

Landlady: Good. [to cleaner] Well, don't just move the dirt around! [to Joe] So what's your story? You work in a circus?

Joe: Fuck, I hate Americans. No, I don't work for the fucking circus. I'm a cop. Royal Canadian Motherfucking Police. I first came to fucking Chicago on the trail of the shit-sucking fuckfaces who offed my fucking old man, and for reasons that don't need fucking exploring at this fucking juncture, you old hag, I stayed.

Landlady: [after long pause] Don't take anything. [in the background, Shithead lifts a leg and pisses in the corner]

Joe: Oh, for fuck's sake.

Landlady: Very mysterious man, this friend of yours.

Joe: Oh, yeah, sure. Ray's an international man of fucking mystery.

Landlady: He clomps.

Joe: Clomps?

Landlady: In rhythm. [lets them into apartment number 309]

Joe: Oh, that'd be the ass fucking. We get going and that headboard just fucking slams into the wall. Wham! Wham! [makes illustrative gestures]

Landlady: [stares]

Joe: Here's a fucking twenty, now fuck off.

Landlady: Well! I never!

Joe: I'm sure you fucking well haven't. [closes door in her face]

[Joe wanders into the kitchen, grabs a pizza box out of the fridge. Scrapes a little mold off a piece and starts munching on it. Shithead whines; Joe tosses him a piece. Joe wanders to the counter and takes a look at the newspaper: "Chicago Guardian, Monday..." and "ELLERY" visible.]


	2. Chapter 2

[Location: Crypt]

[Mice squeak; Ray looks around, his gun at the ready]

Ray: Don't move. [pulls gun on Joe]

Joe: That's not buddies. [Ray lowers gun] Why the hell are you hanging out in this fucking shithole?

Ray: None of your business.

Joe: Nice place. You know, you can usually score a shitload of smack around places like this. Fucking junkies live in the fucking tombs and shit.

Ray: And you know this how?

Joe: I'm an officer of the law, Ray. Of course I know where to go to score smack. It's my sworn duty to arrest drug dealers and other such malfeasants, after all.

Ray: Mal-whats?

Joe: Bad motherfuckers.

Ray: Okaaaaaay... Hey, how did you find me?

Joe: Got a tip for you. If you don't fucking want anybody to know where the fuck you are, you might not want to leave a big fucking clue circled on a newspaper just lying around. Dink.

Ray: Wait a minute, wait a minute. You broke into my apartment?

Joe: Nooooo. That'd be against the law. I just bribed your landlady to let me in. Gossipy old bitch.

Ray: You invade my castle, you track me down, you almost get your head shot off. You wanna tell me why?

Joe: Two reasons. First, I bought you a little present.

Ray: For what?

Joe: For your fucking birthday.

Ray: It's not my birthday.

Joe: Yes, it is. Cuntface.

Ray: No, it's not. Cocksucker.

[Joe and Ray grin at each other. Have themselves a little moment. Shithead farts and the moment is lost.]

Joe: Shithead! Out!

[Shithead whines and leaves]

Ray: Gah, that's the most disgusting thing I've ever smelled.

Joe: Just be fucking glad you only had sausage pizza in your fridge. Shithead after a pepperoni pizza could knock a motherfucking musk-ox out.

Ray: Wait, you fed him that pizza? That's animal cruelty, that thing had to be in there a month.

Joe: Wasn't too bad. Crunchy. Anyway, it's Ray Vecchio's fucking birthday, so--

Ray: Hey-hey, let's just drop that, okay, Joe? You and I both know I'm not Ray Vecchio.

Joe: Fuck, you're not?

Ray: No.

Joe: You're absofuckinglutely certain about that?

Ray: I don't even look like him.

Joe: Eh, you could have had plastic surgery.

Ray: You are unhinged.

Joe: Shit, really?

Ray: Yes, really. Look, I'm not Ray. I mean, I am Ray, but I'm not Ray Vecchio. I'm... Kowalski. Stanley Raymond Kowalski.

Joe: [laughing so hard that he has to grab onto a pillar for support] No fucking way. Your name is Stanley fucking Kowalski?

Ray: Look, my Dad had a thing for Brando. Me, it was always Steve McQueen. So I go by Ray.

Joe: Nice to fucking meet you, Ray Kowalski. [they shake hands]

[Scene break]

[Location: Crypt]

Joe: So Welsh sent me to track you the fuck down, cause if you don't show up by five, everybody's pretty much fucked.

Ray: Look, Joe, let's get this thing straight. You want me to sit in front of a bunch of guys who are going to grill me about corruption that never happened, but if it did happen it happened to another guy, but I'd have to answer for it anyway?

Joe: Yeah, that's pretty much the fucking idea.

Ray: Forget it.

Joe: Fuck, Ray, you don't show up, they're gonna fucking can your skinny ass.

Ray: Look, Joe, I've humped this job for a long time. Bad hours, bad food and bad guys. And for what?

Joe: A shitty pension and bad knees?

Ray: No shit. Me, I never wanted to be a cop in the first place. I always wanted to be something else.

Joe: So why the fuck didn't you fucking go be something else?

Ray: That is the reason I'm here today.

Joe: And why's that, cocksucker?

Ray: [looking out window] What the hell is your dog doing?

[Outside the crypt, Shithead is humping the inflatable sheep.]

Joe: Sonofabitch! That fucking sheep was for the motherfucking birthday party!

Ray: [pause] What the hell kind of birthday party are you _planning_?


	3. Chapter 3

[Location: Crypt]

Ray: You know, Joe, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, "Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over. Ditch the past." "What's the catch?" I say. "Oh, your partner's Canadian." Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series.

Joe: Twice.

Ray: Which I'm willing to overlook.

Joe: That's mighty fucking generous of you.

Ray: But at no time did they say, "Oh, by the way, you'll be working with a Mountie with Tourette's, who's got a dog that fucks inflatable farm animals." [notices something out window and hands his glasses to Joe] Hold these, will you? Oh, that's good.

Joe: What?

Ray: Just something's queer. Let's check it out.

[Location: Cemetery]

[Two men stand by a hearse.]

Bert: [checking bag of money] It's all there?

Rico: Uh huh.

Ray: [fake sobbing] Mom. Mom.

Bert: What?

Ray: That's my mom in there.

Bert: No, it's not.

Ray: Yeah, it is. [hugs Bert]

Bert: No, it's not. You're confused with, uh...

Rico: Grief.

Ray: No, that's my Mom. Mom, I'm so sorry. Just wanted to see your face one last time.

[opens coffin]

Bert: Hey, you can't do that!

Ray: Mom, how you've changed. Into Cuban cigars.

Bert: [pulls gun on him] That's it. That's enough. Out of the car. Easy. That's it. That's it. Easy. Easy.

Joe: Drop the fucking gun, asshole.

Ray: [to Joe] Pull out your gun.

Joe: Uh, kind of a fucking problem there. I don't have my fucking gun with me.

Rico: You don't got no gun?

Joe: Not with me, no, but if you keep fucking talking back to me, I'll kick your ass to the curb and then beat you to death with _your_ fucking gun.

Rico: Yeah, right.

Bert: Hey, wise guy, step out of the way.

Shithead: [woofs -- running towards them]

Joe: Run.

[they run]

Ray: You don't have a gun?

Joe: I have a fucking gun, I just don't fucking have it on me right now.

Ray: And you didn't bother telling me before?

Joe: Fuck, Ray, I just fucking forgot, okay? It's been a long fucking morning.

[they shelter behind a gravestone]

Ray: How the hell can you forget your gun?

Joe: That reminds me, I got something for you, for your birthday. Just so you know I'm thinking about you.

Ray: Are you a freak? [stands, shoots 3 times and hits a tree]

Joe: It's a picture that I got, I saw it, and it reminded me of you, and I liked it. No frame, you might have to dust it off. [digs through pockets]

[Ray shoots 4 times and hits a statue madonna]

Joe: Oh! Got it. [Pulls his hand out of his coat, middle finger extended.] Put batteries in it-- [makes motor noises and rotates hand]

Ray: That's not buddies.

Joe: It's funny, though. To me. It's funny.

Ray: You're an asshole, Joe. Come on, let's go.

Joe: [as they're running under fire] I did get you a fucking present, by the way. A real one. Made it myself. It's got eagle feathers and shit.

Ray: Really?

Joe: Yeah. Shithead found a dead eagle by the side of the road while we were hitchhiking in B.C. Rolled in it some, but I think the smell is mostly gone.

Ray: Mostly? Go.

Joe: Go. Mostly. It's not too bad, anyhow.

Ray: How many rounds have I fired?

Joe: Shit, seven, I think.

Ray: Duck.

[they shelter behind another headstone]

Ray: We're sunk. I left all my clips in the crypt. Only got two rounds left.

Joe: I can't believe they actually gave you a fucking gun. Your fucking aim sucks.

Ray: Hey, I'm a good shot.

Joe: Fuck what? You fired seven times and haven't hit shit!

Ray: I'm a good shot, I just need my glasses. I also left them in the tomb.

Joe: No, you didn't. [hands him glasses]

Ray: Why didn't you tell me you had them?

Joe: Well, I didn't realize you were fucking blind.

Ray: I'm not blind, I just don't see all that good.

Joe: Anyhow, the other part of the present I picked up on Halsted Street. Here ya go, cocksucker. [Hands Ray a black, spiked thing with feathers tied to it with twist-ties.]

Ray: What the-- is that a cock ring?

Joe: Originally, yeah, but now it's a bracelet. It's pure fucking punk rock, baby.

[gunfire]

Ray: You are a freak. [stands and shoots guns out of bad guys' hands] Down! Down! Hands. [handcuffs the bad guys]

Joe: Nice fucking work, Ray. We better take these assholes in to the station.

Ray: I am not doing that, Joe. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be held against you.

Joe: Welsh is fucking expecting you by five.

Ray: You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, the court will assign one to you.

Joe: Ray.

Ray: Do you understand these rights?

Joe: Ray. Hey, asshole.

Ray: Do you understand these rights?

Joe: Listen, fucko, Welsh's ass is gonna be in a sling unless you show up.

Ray: Look, Joe, get something through your head. Keep a shield, lose a shield, I don't really care. I am not leaving this graveyard until I finish what I came here to do, take down a bent nail named Marcus Ellery. Until I do that I'm not leaving. Period. Dot it, file it, stick it in a box marked done. Okay? [turns to bad guys] Come on, get up!


	4. Chapter 4

[Location: Crypt]

Ray: In the seventies Ellery went on a tear, string of armed robberies from Illinois to Texas. Take anything with cash, jewelry, armoured trucks, banks. He did one bank right in my neighbourhood. Ten years ago he's convicted of a heist outside El Paso. On route to the State Pen, he escaped. After that, went off the grid. It's his mother they're burying today.

Joe: You think he's gonna fucking show.

Bert: It's his mother, he'll show.

Ray: Who asked you?

Rico: Don't get so miffed, he's just trying to help.

Ray: I don't need your help.

Bert: Fine. But I detect a hole in your plan.

Ray: Yeah?

Bert: Yeah. Assuming Ellery shows, which I agree he will, what you going to do? Statute of limitations has runned out on the guy.

Joe: The little pissbucket's right.

Ray: Whose side are you on?

Joe: There are fucking _sides_ , now?

Ray: Look, Joe, there's always sides. There's bad guys and there's everybody else. Marcus Ellery, bad guy.

Bert: That may be, but you have no grounds to arrest him.

Ray: Look, this is not official business, so shut up! It's personal.

Joe: You know, Ray, Joey Shithead once said, "Way down deep inside you know what's true and your soul's still intact, so don't be a sponge for rotting thoughts-- take the world back."

Ray: What?

Joe: He also said "Dead men tell no tales. Dead men don't try blackmail, they smell bad and they're kind of pale. Yes, dead men tell no tales," but I thought the other one was a little more fucking uplifting.

Ray: What the hell does that have to do with anything?

Joe: Fuck, I dunno, it just seemed like an appropriate point to quote some shit.

Rico: "Don't be a sponge for rotting thoughts-- take the world back." Yeah, I like that. This guy Joey Shithead. Does he got any books out?

Joe: Fuck yeah. Loggerheads, Moose Droppings, 13 Flavours of Doom, Dawning of a New Error, and several others, as well as his seminal work, Disco Sucks.

Rico: I gotta check into that.

Bert: What is wrong with you, man?

Rico: Look, if we don't get off on a technicality, we're looking at fifteen to twenty-two years. I could put that time to good use.

Ray: Shut up.

[gunfire]

Ray: Gun.

[Location: Cemetery]

[Joe tackles the shooter, an elderly lady aiming a gun at a grave. They fall over sideways and he lands halfway underneath her, on the grave.]

Joe: Who the fuck are you?

Gladys: [flirtatiously] Gladys Carls. [Gladys makes no effort to disentangle herself from Joe.]

Ray: Uh, sorry for roughing you up, there, ma'am. You're not hurt or nothing, are you?

Gladys: No. It is a bit stiff, though. [winks at Joe]

Joe: That's what all the girls tell me.

Gladys: It certainly is... Well, what I meant to say is that my leg is hard, er, stiff, I mean. [grabs Joe's ass]

Ray: Right, right. Here, lemme give you a hand up. [pulls Gladys off of Joe, not especially gently]

Gladys: Oh, thank you, my hat. There we are. I'm just visiting my husband, you see.

Ray: What, you hate the guy so much you fire six shots into him even after he's dead?

Gladys: Hate him? Good Lord, no, I loved him dearly. I'm just executing part of his will.

Joe: What, he's like a masochist or some shit? Little whips'n'chain action going on there?

Gladys: Oh, well, we tried that sometimes, but he hated pain, although he was very fond of the outfit I bought him. It had the most charming leather kilt... [coughs] That's not important. No, no, he was acorophobic.

Ray: Ah, he's afraid of acrobats.

Gladys: No, no, insects. You see, Henry was of the belief that lead would discourage insects from feasting off him. So I just shoot a little in now and then to keep them away. I don't know if it works but it makes me feel better.

[Ray puts gun away]

Ray: Listen, lady, I'm gonna have to check your gun license.

Gladys: Oh, by all means.

Joe: So tell me, Gladys, did you get the leather kilt custom-made or was it fucking retail?

[Joe and Gladys wander towards the crypt, engaging in a lively discussion of leather versus neoprene.]

Ray: Freaks. [sighs and follows them]


	5. Chapter 5

[Location: Crypt]

Ray: May I ask you something? Do you find me attractive?

Bert: Oh, I wouldn't say attractive.

Rico: No, cute maybe.

Gladys: I'd say well-favoured.

Ray: Did I ask you?

Bert: Sorry, I thought you were asking all of us.

Ray: Well, I wasn't, so zip. [to Joe] Well? D'you find me attractive?

Joe: What the fuck are you asking _me_ that for?

Ray: I mean, um, you know... as a woman.

Joe: Do I think you're a hot chick? What the fuck are you smoking?

Ray: No. No. I'm not the woman. You're the woman.

Joe: I'm the woman. _I'm_ the woman. You wanna fucking take this outside, cocksucker?

Gladys: No, I'm the woman.

Ray: But up.

Bert: Well, she is.

Ray: Well, I know she's a woman, I'm asking Joe to pretend that he's a woman. Okay?

Gladys: Oh. Can you do that, dear?

Joe: No way in hell! I may suck cock, but I ain't no fuckin' pansy.

Rico: I dressed up as a woman once. It was rather fun. Heh heh.

Ray: Look, you three zip, and you, you pretend you're a woman, okay? You find me attractive?

Joe: Yeah, you're hot shit. I'd fuck you again.

Ray: You're not just saying that?

Joe: No, I go down on guys I find unattractive. All the fucking time. Jesus, Ray.

[Ray laughs]

Joe: The fuck's so funny about that?

Ray: I just... Your tone of voice. Sounded just like my wife.

Joe: You're fucking _married_?

Ray: I was, not anymore.

Rico: That is so sad.

Ray: Well, yes, you know. Two careers, she worked at States Attorneys' office, it just didn't work out.

Bert: You know the break up tone of voice. They say, "Hey, it's no big deal." Tone of voice you know.

Rico: He would know, his wife left him. He was a broken window. Glass everywhere.

Gladys: What about you, dear? Are you married?

Joe: _Fuck_ no. No fucking ball'n'chain, no squalling brats.

Ray: I dunno, it's like-- it's like you can't go forward until you go backward. Like I tried to run away from my past, but you can't do it, cause it's in your skin, it stays with you. You gotta retrace your steps to figure out how you got here. I took this bus, I drove this car, I got on this train, I walked down this street, I turned this corner, I opened this door, and I stepped into a bank.

[Flashback. Location: Bank]

Ray: I was thirteen and she was a Gold Coast girl. Private school. She was untouchable, but I was working it. I was lying like a maniac. I was John Lennon, James Bond, Joe Namath, all rolled into one.

[Young Ray and Stella at counter]

Young Stella: [whispers to Ray] I think that man has a gun.

Young Ray: Gun!

Ellery: [distorted voice] Down on the floor, now. Now! You, little girl, get over here. Get over here! [Stella goes] Kid. Fill that bag up with money. Get up, fill it up. Get up. Get up. Now.

[Young Ray gets up]

Ellery: Turn around! Turn around. [Young Ray turns. His pants are wet. Ellery laughs] Look. The kid messed himself.

[Stella struggles, breaks free and runs away]

Young Ray: Stella!

Ray: Stella.

[End flashback. Location: Crypt]

Ray: Stella.

Joe: [snickering] You pissed yourself?

Ray: I tell you my big dark secret and that's all you have to say?

Joe: I'm so sorry for not being properly fucking supportive. Yes, Ray, that is indeed a terrible story. I can see how you'd be fucking traumatized for life. [still snickering]

Ray: Asshole.

Joe: Dink. [They grin at each other.]

Bert: So. Did you get the girl?

Ray: Yeah. I got the girl. That was Stella, my wife.

Rico: She married you even after... you know, what you done?

Ray: Yeah, but that's not the point. The point is, I mean, my whole life, it all starts and ends with this one guy. I'm like one of those, um.... whatchamacallem? Uh, knights looking for the Holy Grill.

Joe: Grail.

Ray: What?

Joe: Holy Grail.

Ray: You sure?

Joe: I'm pretty fucking sure it's not a diner.

Ray: Grill, grail, whatever. I'm just trying to settle an old debt.

[Ray looks out of window and sees funeral procession arriving]

Shithead: [howls]

Gladys: Is your dog all right?

Joe: I think the fucking inflatable sheep finally sprang a fucking leak.

Ray: He didn't show up.

Bert: What kind of guy doesn't show to his own mother's funeral? I mean, we're low-life, man, but that, that's a new standard.

Joe: Yeah, even I'd show up to my mom's fucking funeral, just to make sure the old bitch was really _dead_.

[Location: Cemetery. Ray sends Gladys off in a taxi, and Bert and Rico off in a police car. Ray and Joe return to the crypt to pack up Ray's gear.]

Ray: I lied, you know.

Joe: Shit, really?

Ray: Yeah. About Stella, to Stella. I was in the bank, she thought I humiliated myself on purpose, to stall for time so she could get away. I never told her any different. She thought I was a hero. I played along. Whole marriage based on a lie. I was a con job then and I'm a con job now.

Joe: Oh, for fuck's sake. Ray. She didn't just fucking marry you just cause you pissed yourself in a bank. Maybe she married you for your pretty face, cocksucker, but I don't fucking think it was just that either.

Ray: What do you mean?

Joe: 1988, warehouse, hostage situation, you get shot in the fucking leg and you still manage to rescue the kid. 1990, jewelry store, three assholes with guns, you take 'em all down. 1993, you bring in three escaped murderers. Three fucking citations, you overachieving asshole. You're a good cop. And I'm fucking proud to call you my partner. That's buddies, Ray.

Ray: What was that last part?

Joe: Buddies.

Ray: Lend me some money?

Joe: That's not buddies.


	6. Chapter 6

[Location: Cemetery]

Shithead: [greets them with a whine, dragging the deflated sheep along with him.]

Ray: How'd you know all that stuff about my background?

Joe: Went through your files.

Ray: You're a real nosey parker, aren't you?

Joe: Went through your drawers too. Some fucking interesting reading material. Good to know you buy your lube in the fucking economy-sized tube. And what's with the frilly pink nightgown?

Ray: [coughs, looks embarrassed] Hey, you think this cock ring would fly?

Joe: It's not a fucking frisbee, Ray.

Ray: But do you think it'd fly?

Joe: Shit, I doubt it.

[Ray throws the cock ring like a frisbee. Shithead barks half-heartedly. It flies across the cemetery and hits Ellery in the head. After a bit of searching for the cock ring, Ray sees Ellery; he runs and jumps on top of him, which knocks both of then into an open grave.]

Ellery: Geez. Oof. Aw. Hey, man, whatever you want, my money, my wallet, it's yours.

Ray: [pulls gun on him] You remember me? Oh yeah, you remember. Little kid in the bank. 1974. Oh yeah, you remember. Kid wet himself. Tell me you remember.

Ellery: Hey, what the hell's happening?

[bad eclipse graphics]

Ray: It's an eclipse. I don't believe this. You don't remember me.

Ellery: Hey, kid. I've robbed a lot of banks, and I've spent a lot of time in jail. I don't have much of a memory about anything.

Ray: I spent my entire life looking for you! Looking for some payback, some revenge, maybe even... kill you, and... now I get you face to face, and... I can't even see your face.

Ellery: Hey, you do what you gotta do, man. I just came here to say goodbye to my mother.

Ray: Ah. Mother. Huh. Okay. You can go now.

Ellery: You're letting me go?

Ray: Yeah. Thanks.

Ellery: For what?

Ray: For making me what I am. A cop.

Joe: [wandering through the cemetery] Ray? Where the fuck are you, cocksucker? Ray? Ray? Hey, asshole!

[sun comes out; Ray's lying alone in the grave]

Ray: He overpowered me. Ran away.

Joe: You're fucking kidding me.

Ray: It's over. [throws cock ring out of the grave]

Joe: What a fucking waste of time.

Ray: You're telling me.

[Joe helps him out, and falls into the grave as Ray walks away.]

Joe: Ray. Ray? Hey, asshole!

Shithead: [whines]

Joe: Fuck! Gimme a paw, Shithead.

[Shithead lifts his back leg.]

Joe: No! No! _Fuck!_

[Location: 27th district, some time later]

[Strippers, both male and female, are performing to "Blast from the Past"; empty bottles of vodka sit next to punch bowls; there's a Twister mat set up in the center of the room surrounded by several detectives, including Huey, who appear to be smearing themselves with lime jello.]

Ray: So this is a traditional Yukon celebration.

Joe: Will you quit it with the fucking Yukon thing? I'm from fucking _Vancouver_ , okay? We have electricity and running water and Tim Horton's and fucking _everything_!

Welsh: Constable. I have certain doubts about the legality of the-- [a feather boa drops around his neck and tugs him back toward a buxom, scantily-dressed redhead]

Redhead: Har-deeeng! I was looking everywhere for you!

Welsh: Uh, Detective, Constable... uh, carry on.

Elaine: [dirty dancing with a male stripper] Joe! Great party!

Ray: [looking at the Twister mat] Huey, I don't think that's a good--

Huey: I can do it, I can do it, I can do it. [tries to put his right hand on blue] Aaargh! [falls over]

Shithead: [licks Huey]

Huey: No! Gah! Get off of me! Oh, god, what is that _smell_?

Joe: Not a bad fucking party. Be better with some weed-- I mean, traditional Yukon peace pipes.

Ray: Oh yeah? You know, Joe, it was weird seeing Ellery.

Joe: No shit?

Ray: I mean, that guy dogged me my entire life, and now it's like, uh, the sky opened up or something. I dunno.

Joe: You know, Ray, my father once told me some weird shit. Well, really, he told me a _lot_ of weird shit. I think he took a few too many fucking medicinal herbs while he was with the Inuit, if you fucking know what I mean. But there was something he said about how the sky actually fucking touches the ground, so if you think about it, you're always walking in the fucking sky. Or, uh, maybe that was the story about the hallucinogenic berries, the lumberjack, and the mountain goat.

Ray: You know, Joe, that made about as much sense as the Joey Shithead thing you said earlier.

Joe: "Dead men tell no tales. Dead men don't try blackmail, they smell bad and they're kind of pale"?

Ray: No, the other one.

Joe: Whatever. Wanna fuck in the supply closet?

Ray: You got lube?

Joe: Yeah, I stole yours.

Ray: Freak.

Joe: Dink.

[They grin at each other. Fade to black.]

*End*


End file.
